


it could be love

by a_static_world



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cowboy Like Me, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Jaskier Flirts and Geralt is Minorly Helpless, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Slow Dancing, it's all so sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28164465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_static_world/pseuds/a_static_world
Summary: Watching Jaskier work a crowd is incredible; it’s an art, reminding Geralt ever so vaguely of killing a monster that’s just smart enough to know what you’re doing. There’s a teasing, back and forth tension that makes your gut roil - precisely the way Jaskier’s performing right now. He’s engaged, utterly plugged into the crowd, taunting with raised eyebrows and winking eyelids and flashes of tongue where they aren’t strictly necessary. Geralt can’t help but marvel at him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	it could be love

Watching Jaskier work a crowd is  _ incredible _ ; it’s an art, reminding Geralt ever so vaguely of killing a monster that’s just smart enough to know what you’re doing. There’s a teasing, back and forth tension that makes your gut roil - precisely the way Jaskier’s performing right now. He’s  _ engaged _ , utterly plugged into the crowd, taunting with raised eyebrows and winking eyelids and flashes of tongue where they aren’t strictly necessary. Geralt can’t help but marvel at him.

He’s perched in a shadowed corner, watching with slightly bated breath as Jaskier earns their bread. They’re at a banquet (again), and Geralt’s on protective detail (again). He doesn’t mind so much, especially not when Jaskier bathes him beforehand. It’s nice, too, to be left mostly alone for a night. Everyone’s drawn to Jaskier, and he can brood uninterrupted until the bard lands himself in hot water with some count or other. He seems to be fairly alright, though; at least, he hasn’t come up to Geralt far too casually as a man stalks towards them with murder in his gait.

He blinks, and then suddenly Jaskier’s there. It must be one of his breaks, because the orchestra is starting up, and couples start to pair off for a lively quadrille.   
“Jaskier,” he rumbles, the sound low in his chest as the bard snags his ale. He polishes it off, the bastard, and then flops down with a self-satisfied grin.

“I’ve got some  _ tricks  _ up my sleeve, dear witcher. Telling all the rich folks anything they want to hear, it’s no small task.”

Geralt  _ hmms _ , scanning the hall as Jaskier motions to a serving girl for another drink.

“Like, ‘ _ it could be love, we could be the way forward _ ,’ y’know, bullshit like that. Something that has the old women whipping out their hankies and the men their wallets.” Jaskier takes a pull of his beer, knocking his knee against Geralt’s under the table.

“ _ We _ could be the way forward, dear witcher.”

“Only if they pay for it.”

Jaskier laughs at that, bright and sharp in the dim hall. His midnight-blue doublet sets off his eyes, and they sparkle like they hold the stars. He’s  _ glowing _ , in his element, surrounded by attention and reveling in the midst of it. He belongs here, and something in Geralt’s gut twists to think that places like this are where he goes in the winters, when they part.  _ Good _ . Jaskier deserves things like this, opulence and finery and champagne on call. Geralt startles as Jaskier knocks his knee again, and he looks up to find the other man staring earnestly.

Whatever god made Jaskier did far too good of a job. 

Jaskier, for once, doesn’t seem inclined to say something; a strange thought crosses Geralt’s mind, that maybe despite all the attention he’s gotten tonight,  _ Geralt’s  _ attention is all that matters. Jaskier squints, like he does when he’s suppressing a grin, and Geralt sighs, tipping his head at the bard in a wordless  _ if you must. _ The bard straightens, glances around, and props himself on an elbow and oh, gods.

His whole body language changes, shifts from wound-up, thrumming Jaskier to...something different. Something more languid, like his muscles turned to soup. No, not that, but. He’s laxer, and there’s an edge to his eyes that Geralt’s unaccustomed to.

“Never thought I’d meet you here, dear witcher.”

And they’re Jaskier’s words but they’re  _ different _ , frustratingly so, and Geralt can’t figure it out, so he just tilts his head, hoping Jaskier will continue talking.

“Oh, me? I’m just here hustling for the good life, darling,” and Jaskier’s hand smooths down Geralt’s arm on  _ darling _ .

The fact that Jaskier may be  _ flirting  _ with him hits Geralt like a marble column.  _ Feels _ like he got hit by one, with the way his body drops into fight mode, and he tries to shove down the adrenaline rising in his throat. He  _ wants this _ , fuck. And he can’t tell if Jaskier’s fooling with him or not. So he breathes, quirks an eyebrow at the other man, maintains his facade because if it crumbles, Geralt crumbles with it.

“Dance with me?”

Geralt swallows the panic. Dancing is a dangerous game; he’s a witcher, and Jaskier is beloved by this entire court, and he’s pretty sure if he had to hold Jaskier’s waist he’d throw up all over that midnight velvet. Which would be unforgivable, even by witcher standards.

_ Still _ .

Still, he finds himself taking the hand Jaskier offers, allowing the other man to pull him to his feet. They’ve dimmed the lamps in the hall, the only light source being the flicker of candles on each of the banquet tables and the flash of his own eyes. Reflective like a cat’s, and he’s caught Jaskier staring at them in the light of a campfire more than once. 

“We can stay right here, if you want,” Jaskier whispers, and he’s  _ Jaskier _ again, not the walking-talking-sex-personified of a few moments before. Geralt nods, just once, trying not to crush Jaskier’s hand in his. He always forgets that they’re of a height, able to lock eyes without any effort. The bard’s hand is calloused, rough skin catching on the soft fabric of Geralt’s shirt as he slides a hand onto his waist, and Geralt nearly feels his breath catch with it. His own hand settles on Jaskier’s ( _ muscular _ , gods help him) shoulder of its own volition, and he can feel Jaskier’s smile in the dark.

The orchestra starts a waltz, a slow one.  _ Hard to fuck this up, Geralt _ , and for once he’s glad Vesemir forced them to learn basic court dances, way back when they were pups. He finds his way around the waltz with Jaskier leading, feet moving of entirely their own accord as he and Jaskier stare at each other, unblinking.

In that moment, Geralt realizes he’s done for.  _ Oh _ , he thinks.  _ It’s going to be one of those things _ . He’s never expressly wanted love. Sex, companionship, sure. Love is an attachment, a commitment that seemed too foreign for the likes of him. But as he dances, here, candlelight reflecting off Jaskier’s hair and the buttons of his doublet, velvet warm beneath his hand and the other man’s breath on his cheek, well.  _ It could be love _ . It could be, it really could be, because Jaskier’s looking at him like he hung the moon, and for him, Geralt would.

The waltz ends, predictably, and they stop turning, but Jaskier doesn’t move his hand from Geralt’s waist. He’s breathless, even though the waltz was slow, and Geralt can’t say he’s any better off, enhancements be damned. 

“Well, my compliments to whoever taught you how to dance, dear witcher.”

Jaskier chuckles, removing his hands and taking a step back. Geralt catches his hand before he can even process what he’s doing, and Jaskier just  _ looks _ at him, all big eyes and gods, Geralt wants to kiss him worse than he’s ever wanted to do anything. 

_ “CanIkissyou-” _

And it’s a rush of words, tangled and tripping over each other, but Jaskier gets it, because he’s mashing their mouths together before Geralt can finish the sentence. The room is still dark, thank the gods, and their alcove is even darker, which means the wall comes up behind Geralt faster than either of them were expecting. It’s graceless and messy, and their teeth keep clicking together, but Jaskier’s laughing into his mouth a little, and it’s the best gods-damned experience Geralt’s ever had in his  _ life _ . The lights eventually brighten again, and Jaskier pulls away, looking thoroughly mussed.  _ Debauched,  _ as the rest of the court will likely mutter.

“That’s my cue, darling. Wait for me?”

“Always.”

And Geralt means it.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm doin it! posting things! it's happening!  
> (yes this is based on cowboy like me by taylor swift. listen. i take the serotonin i can get)  
> anyways, i hope you are all doing well! come visit me on [tumblr](https://astaticworld.tumblr.com/) for fun facts, like "joey batey and henry cavill are the same height" (they are!), or for a chat if you need one <3  
> hydrate, wear your masks, and please be safe this holiday season!  
> xoxo static


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